


Tap That Ass

by sburbanite



Series: Don't Tap on the Glass [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Dave is an idiot, Humor, Karkat's anxiety to be specific, M/M, Meteorstuck, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sarcasm, Shameless Smut, but an adorable idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As promised, a smutty follow-up to "Don't tap on the Glass."</p><p>Feels, smut, and two boys being fluffy idiots.</p><p>*Can be read independently, all you need to know is that Dave and Karkat had a drunken one-night-stand, and then he got turned into a troll for a bit. Alternatively, you can go read the fic.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tap That Ass

“For the last time, dude, I’m sure. I promise.” 

“Dave, you said that last time.” 

Karkat sighs, running a hand through Dave’s hair. This was all so much easier when Dave was a troll, when Karkat knew exactly what to do…or at least had an _idea_ of what to do from reading hundreds of flushed pailing scenes, late at night underneath his snuggleplane. Nonetheless, it’s hard to deny that the feeling of Dave’s spongy human fingertips trailing over his grubscars is wonderful, even if his lack of claws is strange. 

“C’mon man, I promise I won’t freak out this time, OK? We’ll just keep my junk a claw-free zone, and everything’ll be fine.” 

The clench in Karkat’s gut at the memory of Dave’s agonized yowl gives away his discomfort, as much as he tries not to show how guilty he feels. Dave assured him that he just nicked somewhere sensitive, hadn’t done any actual damage, but still. There’s nothing quite like injuring your matesprit’s bulge while attempting to have sex to make you feel like a worthless piece of shit. 

“Hmmgn…fine.” his whine sends Dave’s eyebrow rocketing upward, “if you’re sure...but if I fucking hurt you again I’m going to throw myself off the meteor.” 

Dave’s laugh is stupid, a goofy little exhalation through both nose and mouth. It’s no wonder he used to suppress it religiously, because it’s impossible to take Dave seriously when he’s doing that snorty little huff. Karkat’s stomach fills with warmth at the sound of it, because Dave sounds so _happy_. It’s difficult to believe he’s the reason why. 

“Good luck shaking me off long enough to jump, Karkat. You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easily.” 

Dave grins, wrapping his arms tightly around Karkat’s torso and pulling him down, hands still shoved up under his sweater. Karkat chirrs quietly with contentment; Dave is soft even where his muscles define his alien physique, so different from the hard-packed build of a troll. He’s different from anyone Karkat ever dreamed of being with; stronger and weaker in equal measure, and the most irritatingly charming person he’s ever met. When Dave was a troll, he’d matched Karkat’s feverish temperature, and their pailing had been like putting his bulge into a glorious furnace. Now, Dave is a warm presence beneath him, warm enough to melt but not to burn. Karkat melts willingly. 

Gently, carefully, Karkat rubs circles on the exposed flesh of Dave’s side, where his t-shirt has ridden up, feeling the way Dave’s flesh moves beneath his fingers. The little fuzzy hairs all over Dave are nice, he thinks, almost cute. Humans are nothing but overgrown meowbeasts after all. If Dave could, Karkat thinks, he would be purring like crazy right now. 

“OK, you’ve convinced me, Strider. I will fuck you, but only because you asked so politely.” 

Dave’s little laugh becomes a quiet moan as Karkat sits up and lifts his shirt, so that those funny little pink nubs are visible. They’re sensitive; Karkat knows that, so he gives one an experimental lick. That gets a favourable response, although Dave is still laughing. 

“Dude, ha, stop! That tickles! If you’re going to put your tongue on the goods, you gotta use a little more pressure.” 

The sloppy smile on Dave’s face is maddening, so he wipes it away with his mouth. This isn’t fair, Dave not only knows how a troll’s body works, he’s actually been _in_ one before. _In more ways than one_ , Karkat realizes, shivering with pleasure as he remembers how good it was. The shiver might also have something to do with the way Dave is nibbling on Karkat's bottom lip. 

They have to break contact as Karkat pulls Dave’s shirt over his head, thankful that his shades are sitting on the coffee table. Watching Dave disentangle them from the neck of his shirt is amusing, but it’s not particularly hot. 

“Uh, Karkat?” 

Dave is looking at him with a small frown, and Karkat tries not to flip out over it. Dave’s face is surprisingly mobile behind the glasses, and he struggles not to read too much into every eyebrow twitch and forehead crinkle. 

“Are we gonna do this here, like, on the couch?” he grins, “With Dane Cook’s weird, sort of chubby face watching us?” 

Karkat snorts, because Dave is a dumbass, and he’s also right. They should be on the concupiscent platform/bed, if they’re actually going to do this properly. The only other time he saw Dave naked as a human, both of them were too inebriated to appreciate it. This time he intends to appreciate the shit out of naked Dave. 

Swinging his legs down, Karkat sweeps Dave up and carries him to the bed draped over one shoulder. Strider laughs again, probably because he’s chosen to forgo the cliché romantic “bridal style” carry for a more aggressive, cave-troll lift. It’s too tempting not to smack his ass, not too hard, just hard enough to make Dave yelp with surprise. There’s a big, dumb grin on his face when Karkat slings him onto the bed. 

“Whoa there, Vantas! What’s gotten into _you_?” 

Karkat sticks out his tongue, trying not to smile. 

“Whatever it is, can it stay, pretty please?” Dave grins, “I’ll take good care of it.” 

The words and Strider’s stupid face crack Karkat’s resolve instantly, and he doesn’t resist when Dave pulls him down again by his shirt-front. 

“Rarrrr.” Dave makes a silly growl through his teeth, mocking Karkat’s suddenly-dominant attitude. 

“Shut up, Strider. You’re ruining the mood, you giant dorkface.” 

“Liar.” 

Dave wriggles slightly, pushing his hips up against Karkat. It’s difficult to disagree that the mood is well and truly intact with Dave between his legs, although their clothing is starting to feel like a hindrance. Karkat decides it’s time to do something about that. He kisses Dave’s stomach as he carefully undoes Dave’s fly with claws that he has tried his best to file down. Under normal circumstances, a troll would never, _ever_ make themselves vulnerable like this. Using Rose’s nail-file had felt wrong, but Kanaya seemed to have gotten over the loss of her defence mechanism, so Karkat is damned if he’s going to be the one to freak out. Karkat breathes easy again when he hears no cries of pain or protest from Dave, who seems content to let his pants and shoes be removed. In fact, he’s probably enjoying it a little too much, if the infuriating smirk on his face is anything to go on. Even so, Karkat is content with the situation, since Dave is practically naked right now and that’s really all that matters. 

“You do have to actually do some of the work, you know.” Karkat growls, although he knows Dave isn’t fooled for a second. 

“Yes, sir.” Dave deadpans. 

Karkat doesn’t exactly appreciate the ironic two-finger salute, but he does approve of the way Dave shoves his sweater off over his head, his quick fingers dancing over Karkat’s fly before he has a chance to catch his breath. With his pants gone, both of them are left wearing only boxers, and he pushes himself down on top of Dave until they’re sharing a delicious amount of skin. The rumbling in Karkat’s chest is practically unstoppable at this point. 

“Dude,” Dave says it into his neck as he presses kisses into the spot just behind Karkat’s jawbone, “Does all of you vibrate like that? I don’t remember that from last time. Lucky me, huh?” 

“Shut up, assface,” Karkat licks Dave’s nose when he nuzzles it into Karkat’s cheek. “You’re too fragile as a human…it makes me feel disgustingly pale as well as flushed.” 

“Hmm, I guess you’ll have to be gentle with me then. Again, I mean.” 

Karkat laughs as Dave flutters his eyelashes ironically, a rasping giggle that bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest. In front of anyone else it would be embarrassing as hell, but Karkat has seen Dave laugh so hard that coffee came out of his nose and he _still_ wanted to kiss him afterward. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Strider.” 

Karkat kisses him stupid before he can do something else ridiculous and ruin the mood. He gasps a little as Dave pushes warm hands underneath the waistband of his boxers, stroking around the curves of his ass and pulling him flush against Dave’s hips. This is getting real, and Karkat wants it to be real. But…there’s still something at the back of his mind that won’t let him relax. 

Rolling them over so that they’re lying on their sides, noses practically touching, Karkat looks into the trusting depths of Dave’s bright red eyes. 

“Is this OK, man? You look a little worried. I’m not gonna bite, I swear.” 

Dave looks concerned, frowning slightly as he reaches up to pat Karkat awkwardly on one horn. The poor guy obviously has no idea what to do to reassure someone else, and Karkat feels pity swelling painfully in his chest. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to have Dave looking at him as if he’s the most important person in the universe. 

“I’m fine. Good. Fucking great, actually. I would have thought that’d be obvious.” 

There’s no hiding the wriggling going on in his boxers or the dampness seeping through the fabric. Karkat swallows before continuing. 

“I just have no fucking clue what I’m doing…you’re a goddamned alien, and I want…” He takes a shuddering breath, “I want you to feel…” 

Dave gently brushes the bangs from Karkat’s eyes, kissing him gently before he can continue. 

“Don’t freak out, Karkat. I’ll let you know what feels good, OK?” Dave smiles, “It’s you, dude. It’s all good. I can freestyle it for you if you want, man; M.C. Strider’s sexual rap sessions, guest starring D.J. Vantas on the ones and twos.” 

The smile is a grin now, burning away the insecurities in Karkat’s think-pan like an insufferably smug blowtorch. Karkat wants to smack him around the head and kiss him and fuck him, probably not in that order. According to Dave, this is the human disease known as “love”, and Karkat is starting to think he has a terminal case. 

“I think my goal for today is to make sure you can’t talk, Strider. There’s nothing my bulge hates more than your fucking slam-poetry.” 

“Noooooooooo,” Dave cries, his face stricken with mock-horror, “I don’t wanna to scare the little guy away before he’s had his debut performance. He’s the star of the show, man. The headline act.” 

He rolls Karkat onto his back, reaching down to tug at the hem of Karkat’s boxers. The raised eyebrow is a question, an assurance that he can stop any time, and Karkat’s blood-pusher melts. He nods enthusiastically, feeling his stomach lurch as the air hits his bulge. He can’t look, can’t force himself to watch Dave’s face in case he’s freaked out, disgusted. Karkat knows that he’s being ridiculous, that Dave had a practically identical bulge a few short weeks ago, but a lifetime of ingrained self-loathing is hard to shift. 

Karkat lets out a squeak he knows he’ll deny later when he feels warm wetness trailing slowly, lovingly from the root of his bulge to the tip. Glancing down, he’s greeted by the sight of Dave’s stupid grin, his teeth and chin smeared with red. 

“Did you just fucking lick me?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Mmmhmm. Like a big ol’ cherry cocksickle. Except, y’know, it tastes of troll dude rather than cherry. Still tastes nice, though.” He pauses, looking a little less like a smug bastard as he asks; “You want me to keep going?” 

Karkat has no idea where “keep going” will lead, but he nods again, because having Dave _want_ to do this feels fucking incredible. Not as good, however, as when Dave puts his mouth over the sensitive tip of his bulge and _sucks_. 

“Fuuuuuck, Dave…mngh.” 

Keeping his bulge from plunging down Dave’s throat and choking him is difficult, but Karkat just about manages it. Dave is making odd little slurping sounds, but he doesn’t seem to be dying. Karkat thinks _he_ might be, though, because he thinks his pusher might explode. 

“Nggh…mnnggh.” 

It’s not exactly an eloquent soliloquy of baroque romantic praise, but it’s all Karkat can manage. Dave pries an honest-to-god moan from his lips when he runs a finger along Karkat’s nook, teasing the entrance with his touch. Karkat shifts his hips, trying to coax Dave’s finger inside, and shivers with pleasure when he gets the message. 

Being stimulated by a 2x Dave combo of fingers and tongue feels incredible, even if the sensation of Dave breathing heavy, warm air onto his stomach and the base of his bulge is a little strange. It’s enough to lift Karkat away from himself, away from concerns about blood colour or weakness or impending death, into a place he didn’t know existed. In that part of his mind, there is only _Dave_ , who doesn’t give a shit that he’s the most useless member of his species left alive and, lately, only ever seems to want to make him feel good. When Dave starts to move his fingers, slowly at first, but increasingly rapidly as he senses Karkat begin to breathe heavily, Karkat thinks he might die or pass out or, more likely, come. 

It’s good, _so good_ , and he doesn’t want it to end, but he can’t shake the feeling, deep at the back of his mind, that this can’t be good or even pleasant for Dave. There’s no way he can imagine that having a bulge half-thrust down his throat feels pleasurable. His arousal wanes, backing him away from the edge of orgasm as the thoughts twist and turn in his pan, betraying his body with anxiety. 

_No troll,_ he thinks, squirming slightly, _would ever do this to another. It’s too vulnerable, too one-sided, the opposite of what flushed pailing is meant to be, and you’re getting off on it like some kind of deviant. Last time you made him feel incredible, or at least good, you know you did. This time he still has his fucking boxers on, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t sex, it’s just something he’s doing because he…because he feels obligated now that he knows there’s no way you could take his bulge._

“Karkat? You OK?” 

Dave’s voice startles him, making him realize that his bulge is curling in the cool meteor air and there are tears prickling in his eyes. 

“Yes…great…fucking super.” 

Karkat can’t suppress the first wince as Dave withdraws his fingers, and the second as he wipes a long smear of red from his mouth onto his forearm. 

“No, like hell you are. You’re not fine. Did…did I hurt you?” 

“What!?” Karkat’s stomach lurches with horror, “No, no, god, no! Please…” 

He gestures for Dave to climb back onto the bed, for him for come closer so that Karkat doesn’t have to look at him through his own red-coated thighs. Dave is at his side and hugging him before he can breathe. 

“Hey, hey, c’mere. Whatever I did, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

Dave’s words are muffled by Karkat’s shoulder, and because Karkat is holding him tightly enough to crush the air out of his chest. Dave’s arms wrap around him equally as tightly, remembering the times that Karkat has had anxiety episodes. For some reason, the pressure of a tight hug always seems to help calm him. When Karkat can breathe again instead of exhaling unsteadily against Dave’s chest, he tries again. 

“You ready to talk about it? No pressure, man, honest.” He kisses one of Karkat’s horns gently. 

Karkat snorts, a scoffing sound that he should have prevented. When in his life has there been no fucking pressure? 

Dave is still holding him, though. He’s still here. He hasn’t gotten fed up and left after he took a ten tonne dump all over the mood. That should count for something, at least. Karkat allows himself the slightest hope that he’s blowing shit way out of proportion, as usual. 

“Look, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” Karkat’s voice sounds weird, choked, but he pushes himself through it, “I just got kind of overwhelmed, that’s all. Why…why did you decide to do that? It can’t be fucking fun sticking _that_ in your mouth, getting yourself all covered in…gross shit.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, dude.” 

Dave is half-grinning, half-frowning. It’s a new one on him, this sort of ‘relieved irritation’, so Karkat adds it to the mental list of Strider-expressions he’s been compiling ever since he first got behind Dave’s shades. 

“Didn’t you fucking _hear me_?” Dave asks, sounding utterly incredulous, “I would have thought it was pretty damned obvious I was enjoying myself. And also, what the fuck? It's not gross, Karkat.” 

That…comes as a surprise. Karkat supposes Dave might have been making some kind of noises, whether of pleasure or otherwise, but the churning of his own anxiety was apparently occupying his entire pan. Yet another thing fucking ruined. If they truly were moans of enjoyment, then Karkat really, really wants to hear those noises again. 

“How? Why? I mean, why would that be in any way good for you? I was basically choking you for fucks sake.” 

Karkat rolls away slightly, just enough to get a good look at Dave’s face. The look of confused concern there nearly cracks his blood-pusher. 

“Karkat, if it felt half as good for you as it sounded like it did, because, wow, man, I’d forgotten how fucking loud you are,” Karkat smacks Dave's thigh, although not hard enough to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face, “then how could I not get so turned on that it actually, physically hurts. I am in literal non-serious frustration-pain right now from how hot you are. Your attractiveness is a hefty burden to bear, Karkat, never forget that. You should come with a fucking warning label.” 

He’s rambling again, but Dave still has a way with words even when he throws them out like confetti. Karkat feels a little better; because he knows he’d feel the same if their positions were reversed. If he was the one making Dave writhe and moan and probably still _keep talking_ , he knows his bulge would practically take care of itself. On the other hand, Karkat knows that in the conventional, Alternian sense, there is no possible way for him to do so. The sheer disappointment of that hurts. 

“Dave…what are we going to do? I mean, that was fucking great, and if you say you _like_ doing it then I’d have to be completely shit-panned to argue with you, but…what about you?” 

Dave sniggers in response, and Karkat wants to slap him. 

“Shut up, stop laughing! I’m trying to be fucking serious here! We both know there’s no way that monstrous meat-pole is going to fit inside me, not to mention the fact that it’s completely the wrong _shape_ , and will you STOP FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME!” 

The hunched over ball of human is shaking violently, his face hidden in a pillow, and he raises a finger to indicate that he’s not going to be able to speak for a minute. Karkat cuffs him on the shoulder, which only seems to make things worse. When he can breathe again, Dave extracts himself from the cushiony embrace of the pillow and turns his bright-red face toward Karkat’s. 

“I’m sorry, dude,” he splutters again, “I can’t help it; ‘monstrous meat-pole’ is officially Dave Jr’s new name.” 

Karkat pulls the biggest frown he can manage, sending Dave into further hysterics. Eventually, it becomes contagious, and both of them are lying on the bed laughing themselves stupid. When it passes the laughter seems to take any tension with it, and Karkat kisses Dave deeply while his cheeks are still glowing attractively pink. Dave returns it eagerly, climbing on top of Karkat and snorting into his mouth when his boxers get caught on his ‘meat-pole’ as Karkat pushes them down. Lost in the pleasure of sharing skin with someone so muscular-yet-graceful, so stupid-yet-brilliant, so incredibly _Dave_ , Karkat feels his worries ebb away. This is good, this is right, Dave wants this every bit as much as he does, and it’s like he’s walking on air again. 

When Dave’s hips grind down gently against his, Karkat remembers fuzzily that Dave’s human bulge had gotten on very well with his own during their first, inebriated encounter. Coaxing it to wrap around Dave’s, his bulge draws a shiver from him as it tightens its grip. The way Dave’s eyelids flutter closed and his stomach muscles clench would be a clear sign that Dave likes the sensation, but the need for subtle signals went out of the window when Dave inevitably starts talking again. 

“Oh god oh fuck, dude, thank jegus for troll dongs and I mean yours specifically because damn if that doesn’t feel...fucking incredible…and I haaave nnnhhhnnnoo ideaaaah how…you’re…nrggh…doing thaaahh…” 

More pulsating movements seem to do the trick of making Dave thoroughly incoherent, as well as making him thrust uncoordinatedly against Karkat, and even though it really shouldn’t be doing that much for Karkat in terms of physical stimulation, watching Dave shake and shudder to pieces is intoxicating. He comes without warning, seemingly unexpectedly - arching his back and moaning a long, indecipherable series of syllables - before collapsing next to Karkat in a boneless heap. 

“Mngh.” 

“Very eloquent,” Karkat replies with a grin, thoroughly pleased with himself. 

“Shhh. No sarcasm in the afterglow.” Dave stretches luxuriantly, before gazing into Karkat’s eyes with the dopiest, most love-struck expression he’s ever seen. 

“Lemme just put my brain back together and I’ll show you.” He continues, using a pair of someone’s discarded boxers to wipe the strange, creamy-looking human genetic material from Karkat’s stomach. 

When he’s done, Dave lies still for a minute, holding Karkat loosely and seemingly thinking about something. Feeling a little neglected in the bulge department, Karkat gently moves the hand on his chest down to his crotch in a half-serious ploy for attention. Dave smiles and eagerly twines his fingers with Karkat’s bulge, soft finger-pads brushing against the oversensitive ridges on the underside. 

It takes Karkat a few seconds to process the fact that Dave is talking to him as he absent-mindedly strokes him, because he can’t quite believe Dave would be such a dumbass as to expect him to pay attention. Especially with the way his smallest finger keeps darting against the entrance to his nook. Trying to have a conversation with him now is just plain cruel. 

“You know none of that stuff you said matters, right? About not being able to introduce the meat-pole to your alien nook dealie, I mean c’mon, I’m not stupid, I know I’m not the right shape. Why the fuck would I be, anyway? We’re two pieces from completely different jigsaws man, I’m a radical Earth-guy with a sweet-ass donger, and you’re a smokin’ hot dude-babe with junk from another dimension. There’s no reason for you to feel bad about anything. That’s just dumb. We'll work something out.” 

It turns out Dave is even less coherent post-orgasm than normal. Exactly what Karkat needs when Dave is running those talented fucking fingers all over his most sensitive areas. 

“I just want to make you happy, man. Humans are easy as shit, but trolls are like, stuck on sexpert mode or something. You, uh…seemed pretty happy before, though, right?” 

Karkat nods, probably a little too enthusiastically to maintain the illusion that Dave isn’t driving him completely insane right now. 

“Cool…mind if I continue, then?” 

Another nod, harder this time. 

“You do mind, or you want me to continue?” Dave asks, the infuriating smugness back in his voice. 

Karkat disentangles a hand from where it’s fisted in the sheets, and uses it to flip Dave off. 

“OK, man, message received. No need to raise the space antenna. Just relax this time, OK?” 

He grins, and his teeth are still slightly pink. There is no way that should be hot. Before Dave sinks his mouth over Karkat’s bulge again, he pauses, looking up into his eyes. 

“And next time, you can introduce your tentacle-dick to the sweetest part of my human anatomy. Or the Strider-booty, as it’s commonly known in the fanzines.” 

There’s no time to berate Dave for being _the absolute worst_ at dirty-talk, for suggesting that Karkat put his bulge anywhere near his wastechute, or to ask him exactly what that involves, before Dave has his mouth around Karkat again and his finger pressing inside him, and none of that shit matters at all. 

This time Karkat loses himself completely, and he has to admit, it’s fucking wonderful.


End file.
